Colours
by Pelaven
Summary: Taki has recently graduated from university and is currently job-hunting. However, he has strange habits which make him feel like a part of him is missing. Something he shouldn't forget. Something he should remember. Join Taki and co. on a journey to discover the "truth" of the world, and to find out what it truly means to be alive.
1. Monochrome

Chapter 1: Monochrome

 **Author's note: Please go watch the movie before venturing further. Kimi no Na Wa (Your Name) is a great movie.** **This story will spoil it. It is also my first fan-fiction, so criticism and advice would be helpful. I'd like to thank my friend, Dan, for helping me out with this.**

A wet sensation coursed down the sides of my nose. My eyes annoyingly itched as my inner curtains drew, unveiling the scene above me.

 _White ceiling._

It's a habit of mine that developed a few years ago, a familiar feeling that greeted me each and every day. Water flowed out my tear ducts—as if it was a fall— flowing with its brimming liquid. Like a car's wiper cleaning its windscreen, my right hand brushed my tears away as is routine. To be honest, even with all my intellect, there was no particular or specific reason why this should occur. That's what it seemed to me.

 _Nothing more, nothing less_ _than a strange habit_.

 _Shirt, pants, belt, tie, suit, sock_ _s_ _and_ _boxers_ , I thought to myself; all the necessities that one would need when job hunting.

Dragging my body to the bathroom, my vision peered into the glass right in front of me. A mirror. It was essentially a fact that mirror gazing was a weird habit that my consciousness picked up, similar to me crying for no reason. Nothing popped up in my mind could even come close to explaining this strange phenomenon, which has befallen me the past few years. However, whenever these bizarre habits occur, a peculiar feeling slides into my veins and distorts human senses. A feeling of longing for something that suddenly disappeared from my life. A piece of myself, of my soul was gone and a large hole in its place.

 _I'm sure of it…_

The hands of the clock kept ticking, striking its bell to signal the hour.

'No use over-thinking this,' I remarked to myself, acknowledging that wasting any more time would make me late for the forthcoming interview. 'Better get ready.'

It was over in a jiffy and crept myself to the front door, whilst putting on my leather shoes. The shoes were polished and shone brightly, unlike myself.

"Good luck, Taki," reaffirmed my encouraging dad in the living room, albeit in a monotone voice that felt like it wasn't sincere at all. "Oh, and you have bread crumbs on your mouth."

'Blast it,' I knew something was off. Though a simple tissue paper was enough to fix this as the door behind me closed.

* * *

'They aren't hiring me, are they?' softly remarking my thoughts aloud. My palm was covering my face, thinking whether or not God existed. If God did, why are they so cruel to me?

'Life isn't fair,' I mumbled, thinking back to the interview I just had...

"Why did you apply for the architecture position? What is your motivation?" one of the three interviewers in front of me asked in a serious tone.

"Well, I suppose it is because I always had an interest in buildings — no, the scenery of rural villages," I quickly corrected myself. "I want to draw and design architecture that will be remembered with warmth, like the unique décor of the countryside."

"I see, it is quite interesting that you like the countryside and georgic villages. Many applicants here say they love the city, not the landscape beside it," an interviewer replied.

"I would like to add that seeing people living in towns, the way they live, as if they were one with nature, is calming" I panicked a bit—realising that they might not want to hear stuff like this—whilst brushing the back of my neck. However, I went on. "If Tokyo were to suddenly disappear, I want to create something...something bigger. A town-like city, where its buildings and unique view will distinguish it among the world. A place that will live in the memories of people, even if it existed no more."

"Thank you for your time today, Mr. Tachibana."

...

'Yet, here I am now. No job, no girlfriend, plus something tingles at the bottom of my heart, but I can't pinpoint what it is,' this thought mumbled itself out of my lips. 'No, wait, this might have something to do with that feeling...I don't remember touching the back of my neck when panicking, ever. My eyes stray from others, not the former.'

Something changed me. All these habits I've picked up is proof of that. Yet, I can't remember, no matter how hard I tried. This feeling...of yearning for a segment that fell from my spirit. Something precious.

Another habit of mine is to take in the horizon and view of the metropolis I live in, the one currently in front of me. However, it lacked the personality and serenity of the calming countryside. Looking at pictures of rural towns soothed me; the rocky and snowy mountains, the budding environment with its lively grass and trees swaying back and forth through the wind — its scent like no other, a unique haven from the chaotic life in Tokyo. However, what troubled me the most was that out of all the villages, the only one that piqued my heart was Itomori.

'Itomori,' I repeated out loud. A town long gone interested me the most. It had this deja vu quality about it. Like it was my home town in a previous life. I read news papers, articles and entries on Itomori ever since that day. The day that a falling meteorite—which broke off from the celestial comet passing by—was hurled towards Itomori and destroyed the majority of the town, in a large radius that essentially expanded Lake Itomori. Miraculously, barely anyone was killed or injured due to an emergency drill, although it was all but habitable after. The school grounds, from what I remembered, felt reminiscing to me.

My sight moved down, scrutinising the flesh on my right palm, as the bitter, bleak city stared at me. The same feeling of longing for something dear to me coursed through my blood.

'Even if the whole world doesn't want me to, I will find it,' I shouted with all my strength as a breeze howled through the air. I want it — I need it back in my life. 'Even if I can't remember, even if my voice dampens, even if God forsakes me, I'll chase after it!'

 **Author's note:** Congrats! You made it to the end. This is my first time writing on the site, and my only fan-fiction so far. It may not be the best, but I wanted to convey what Taki might have been through before meeting Mitsuha at the end of the movie.


	2. Choice or fate?

Chapter 2: Choice or fate?

 **Author's notes: Spoilers to Kimi no Na wa as per usual. I'm sorry there's still no romance yet. I want to develop Taki before he meets Mitsuha, which will be some time.**

After my spectacular solo on the streets, shouting out my new-found resolve, the same exact feeling lingered in me for some time.

 _What am I searching for?_ I contemplated. _Right, it's something dear to me. Something I shouldn't forget, but...what is it?_

The answer possibly lied with Itomori—the long lost town—and comet Tiamat.

A comet that passes by Earth every 1,200 years, bringing with it a celestial view that one could die for. However, no one predicted the split of its nucleus when it reached its perigee, hurling a meteorite towards Itomori, sealing its fate. It may be no coincidence that the meteorite hit the very same day Itomori was holding a festive celebration. But, who knows?

With all that thinking, I realised that it was quite late at night already. Me, myself and I walked down a concrete path. The street lights brightly illuminated the path, but only the path and not the surroundings. Lush green bushes that should be here, were not in sight. Everything past the light on the path was a mere silhouette.

I continued to travel home.

I reached a flight of stairs on a high slope. Its steps were made out of concrete and three hand rails—one for the left, middle and right—with the colour of the red sunset. As soon as I reached the top of it, my sight shifted behind me, as if there was a presence there. But it was nothing. No one was there. I assumed it was just the howl of the winter wind.

'What's happening to me?' I whispered to myself. 'Am I really okay? Is this not a dream? Hallucinations? Maybe...just maybe I'm actually crazy!'

 _In a city of millions, only I do not belong here_.

Wandering down the streets still on my way home, my resolve started to slowly dim like a feint heartbeat.

A bright source set the stiff, dark street alight with a gentle breeze caressing my face as it went by.

Something caught my attention at the very edges of my peripheral vision. A person. She was wearing spectacles and had grey hair, but it did not surprise me. She was like any other granny, although her eyes had a familiar ring to it. She seemed to be closing shop.

"Young man, would you be so kind to carry my stuff for me?"

My trigger finger pointed to myself and asked:

"Wait, me?"

To be frank, it was late at night and I didn't feel like doing anything after that disastrous interview. She appeared to be a very nice, old lady and had this peculiar aura of wisdom around her.

 _Well...a deed is a deed_ , I cogitated to find an alibi to help her. She looked to be a long-familiar person. _Maybe she'll give me something in return_.

"Who else?" she responded.

"Sure, sure." It felt automatic as I nodded and gestured what she wanted me to carry.

"It's this long box right here," she directed.

My knees bent down and my back slouched behind in preparation for what looked to be the heaviest load in my life. I couldn't see what was in it clearly, as my very own shadow covered it.

 _Huh, it's light, sweet_.

My legs quickly caught up to her, who was walking with a stick. Peering down into the box, it revealed bobbins with coloured yarn wound around them.

"I am sorry for making you do this," she apologised whilst adding more. "My granddaughter usually helps me out with this, but she was occupied with her school work today."

"It's al right. I'm useless anyway," I said, honestly remarking what I viewed of myself.

"What makes you say that, young man?" she enquired whilst raising an eyebrow.

"Well, for starters, I have no job and blew every interview I've had so far. I can't think of any girl going out with a bummer and sad excuse of a person. I have strange habits which I do not remember ever picking up," I said in an honest manner. "On top of this, the bottom of my heart shivers for something. Something precious which I have lost. But, I can't recall what it is."

"Hmm, I do not know your circumstances," she said with a calming voice. "However, you greatly underestimate your worth as person."

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously.

"Life is not a straight path that you walk. Think of it like hills; it has ups and downs, and never is flat. However, life isn't as simple as we think. It could go sideways, turn left or right, or really any direction. We meet people from start till the very end; we find things that influence and affects us. I have lived a long, fulfilling life and am grateful for all the moments that I've been through. It has made me the person I am. Some people say the path you take is a choice, others say it's fate. For me, it is neither. It is both. The choice to accept or deny your fate that the Gods have laid out for you."

 _She speaks like a narrator_ , I thought, evaluating the way the old lady talked while we kept walking on.

"You can think whatever of this," she added. "But, I can say this for certain: Even if your memories betray you, your soul will not. If you see it, you will know what it is."

Not even a single word left my mouth after she said that. I was contemplating her words.

She stopped in front of a large apartment complex, which I assumed to be her home.

"Thank you so much for taking your time to assist an elderly person like myself," she exclaimed.

"No, I should be the one giving thanks," I said, trying my best to convey my appreciation through. "We're strangers. Yet, you've already helped me greatly. Your words have moved me and I can't think of anyway to express how much it did."

"What's your name?" she inquired.

"...Taki, Taki Tachibana."

"Taki, I am happy that I could help, even if it was just words," the elder said with a smile on her face.

I gave her the box and left, hearing the door slide in place after.

* * *

The door creaked open with gusts of wind following it and as fast as it opened, it closed. The voices of the wind went silent just like that.

"I'm back," I said. The scent of burnt incense streamed through the house as I untied my shoes. It was probably for mother.

"Welcome back, Taki," my father said as he greeted me in the corridor. "How did it go?"

"Terrible. I botched the interview, they're not going to hire me," I replied honestly.

"Ah, well you tried your best. If you need anything, you can always ask me. I'm always here if you want to talk, too."

"Thanks, dad," I remarked softly as I walked towards my room.

I peeped inside the side room on the way and saw two sticks of incense burning, though in two separate holders in parallel corners. One was for my mother, as her picture rested above it. The other I had no idea who it was for, as there was no picture.

My body felt relieved as my formal attire was removed.

 _Now I can finally sleep_ , I thought, as I heard the sound of piano strings being plucked and slumbered off to sleep.


	3. Bittersweet

Chapter 3: Bittersweet

The rising sun shone brightly as it enclosed the city with its warm radiance, but it did not bring warmth to me; it only brought a melancholy feel as the bitter day started.

I had a job in the big city and lived with my beloved family. Life should be fine, but it didn't seem like it at all.

Don't you feel that a part of yourself was missing? Everyday, my body drilled itself to function as if it was a clockwork machine. A wringing at the bottom of my heart yearned for someone that I've lost.

Ever since that day 8 years ago, when Itomori was under threat, a part of me had been missing.

My words managed to sway my father, the mayor of Itomori, to evacuate the citizens under the guise of an emergency drill. However, a part of me was lost in the process.

I had been searching for him ever since that day. The day that drifted us apart. Yet, who he was, I did not know. Though my memory vividly remembered a part of it, like if it was last night.

On the verge of giving up, I cried as you sacrificed your very memory and existence by writing those words unto my palm. Those words were etched into my memory forever.

The words that I wanted to see.

The words that calmed me.

The words that raced my heart.

The words that gave me hope.

The words that gave me courage.

The words that I hoped for deep down.

The words that saved my life.

The words that saved countless lives.

The words that gave meaning to my life.

The words that radiated brightly in the dark, cold night.

The words that were unbound by neither space or time.

The words that I can't remember you with.

The words that I never had the chance to say back.

The words that were:

 _I love you._


	4. Reunion

Chapter 4: Reunion

 **Author's note: Taki went to bed hearing a piano.**

The buzzing from my phone vibrated through the floor it laid on. My eyes were still not accustomed the tears that always flowed down from my face every day, as if it was still a foreign reaction. However, it wasn't just the buzzing from my phone that I heard. I thought a string instrument was singing its melodic tune proudly. A violin probably, but I couldn't confirm; unfortunately, its sound faded away through the air when my awareness snapped back per usual.

 _Tears of loneliness_.

 _A gaze into the solitary abyss of the mirror._

My daily routine repeatedly left that feeling—the same feeling that shouted "some thing's missing!"—in my flesh for some time, without exception. I was planning to check on Itomori at the local library, the one that was nearby. I stopped going to it after I blazed through every single article, entry or book they had on Itomori, which was a ridiculous amount paramount to the size of Mount Fuji. But… I had breakfast duty today.

 _I'm too old for it, I have stuff to do! Like, reading stuff on Itomori,_ I thought, though it sounded like a crappy, half-ass excuse that had no basis of reasoning to it.

'Might as well get it over with,' I said with a soft sigh.

Time felt like it was accelerated, as in a brief moment I did my business in the bathroom and quickly changed into my casual attire, which consisted of: T-shirt, boxers and shorts. Normal stuff.

 _What should I cook for today?_ I believed it was time to switch to something else for breakfast. _Omelet and rice, maybe? What could go wrong, am I right?_

Well, unfortunately I managed to do the unbelievable. I messed up the omelet. It was crisp. Fried to a crisp, it was black! Not even fortune-tellers could have predicted this!

Luckily, my dad still snored and slumbered in his heavy sleep. Time was ticking before he would wake up and prepare for work, which will be in a few minutes. At the very least, I had time to spice up the rice. The table was easy enough to clean and arrange for the morning meal. After all, it was only my father and I living here in this apartment. A beloved member, my mother, passed away while I was a young boy, so I barely had any memories left within me. The one that distinctly exhibited itself was a trip. I couldn't remember where or when, but we enjoyed our short time in a rather small, rural village in Japan.

 _I miss her warmth and ecstatic smile_ , I thought. If only she had lived. There was a lot of room for one, or even two other people in this cardinal apartment.

"Did you burn something?" my father asked; he scared me out of the blue, as I hadn't paid any attention to my surroundings while contemplating.

"Er... no?" I said in a very unconvincing manner.

"You tried making omelet and rice, didn't you? I can see the rice's a-okay, thankfully," he said briskly.

Whilst he said that, I was shaking my head sideways to signal no. Definitely not. I couldn't tell whether I should laugh or continue with this conversation. I decided to pursue the latter.

"Cooking isn't my thing," I replied with an excuse.

"Neither mine."

We laughed a bit and dug into our warm, somewhat delicious breakfast of rice and bread with jam.

Slurping his coffee after we finished our meals, my father asked: "Do you have plans for today?"

"I want to research more on Itomori at the public library that's nearby." I answered.

"It's obvious that you love the place. You have dozens of sketches of it on your board. Man, you amaze me sometimes," my father said with what was supposed to be a happy tone, but it failed to get through. "I better get going, otherwise I'll be late."

"Okay," I nodded as he finished the last bit of coffee in his mug. "Good luck at work!"

"Thanks!" he expressed his gratitude—though in a monotone voice that lacked it—and left for work.

I was alone in a quiet apartment and headed to the side room. Two incense holders sat on parallel edges, one on the left and one on the right of the window. She rested peacefully at the left. The portrait of mother was hanged above.

 _She's beautiful_ , I thought. Even in a picture, she was an elegant looking woman. _I wish I had the chance to know her_.

To be honest, I was bad with women. It was hard for me to talk and keep up a conversation with them. They were like demons. But my mother...she seems different. Or at least, she seemed.

I kneeled down and sat with my legs folded in front of her image, and paid respect to my mother that never had the chance to see her son grow up pathetically.

 _Would she be mad? Angry? Sad? How would she help me?_ I speculated what she would have done if she had lived.

After some time, I raised my bottom and left for my room. Nonetheless, it rang a bell in my head: there was no object or picture for the other incense stick holder. There was nothing. My mind was boggled with possible explanations, yet nothing would align straight.

 _Ah, I'm over-thinking this_ , I concluded.

My sight peered over the many detailed sketches of Itomori that were made by me. I really had a knack for Itomori. It felt so reminiscing and peaceful to look at these illustrations again.

In no time, I was ready to leave. The door opened and the view of the city rushed into my eyes, engulfing it with its enigma, turbulence and chaos. Itomori was the antithesis to it. Streaks of wind went by me with a beat, howling its vigorous voice as I walked to the library.

* * *

The _Town That Vanished — Itomori Village_

The _Calamity Of The Century — Comet Tiamat_

 _History of Itomori Village_

There were many more books than that. However, these provided detailed hindsight into Itomori village. It still had this deja vu feeling about it, about the town. As if I lived there before, in this life or a previous one. I visited the area once, though it was after the town was wiped off the face of the Earth. Withal, when I read these books, they didn't jolt my curiosity at all. It remained steadily constant. I inherently knew the details, even after aeons.

My phone beeped and I glimpsed at a text from Takagi:

"Are you free? Lunch at 1 pm?"

Well, I wasn't doing much other than reading on information I already knew in my head. Basically, it was redundant. Might as well catch up with him. I replied with: "Sure, where?"

"The café, like always," he quickly responded.

"See ya there, then."

I closed the books and carefully stashed them back in their rightful places on the library shelves. I left the library whilst gazing at my right hand _—_ as if there was something there _—_ and headed for the café.

* * *

Takagi was there, waiting in front of the café. Looked a lot older than I'd imagine.

"Yo," I said whilst waving to him.

"Yo."

We grasped each others' hand, pulled one another closer and patted their back with the hand that was free. He shifted his head towards the café, indicating to enter. I sat directly opposite of him, like we were a couple on a date, and ordered our lunch.

"How's it going?" I opened.

"Quite busy with work. To be honest, I shouldn't even be here. I need to regain my foot with business soon," he answered with a laugh.

"Yeah, you're working as an adviser to the top construction company in Japan, so it's bound to be a load."

"I don't care about it right now, I wanted to see you again," he added.

"Uh, why? I'm not doing anything special," I said in an honest manner.

"That's exactly why!" he aggressively spoke. "It's fine to not have a job, but for the past 5 years you seemed down."

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm looking for a job," I objected.

"...You weren't searching for a job for 5 years," he said suspiciously.

"Right. You're right," I replied, giving up the battle.

"I'm here because I want to. You're my best friend, we look out for each other, right?" he said. "I won't laugh if there's something serious that you want to talk about. Even if it's a girl."

"Promise?" I requested _—_ didn't want any funny business or another prank from him.

He nodded slowly as our eyes met with passion.

"Al right. Here it goes: For the past few years, I felt as if a piece of myself was missing. Something precious that I lost. Something I want back. Something that I shouldn't forget. Even with all my strength and focus, I couldn't remember what it was that I've been longing for all this time, which felt like a lifetime already. If you hadn't realised, I picked up some habits for no particular reason. Something, or someone must have changed me." I said, trying my best to make sense of my situation.

Our food and drinks arrived the moment I finished that sentence. We sat there, eating and minding our own business for a while, without a single bit of eye contact as we contemplated by ourselves.

Once we had finished our shares, he said: "It has something to do with Itomori, doesn't it?"

I copiously nodded. _He caught the gist of it_ , I thought. _That's my best friend_.

"I don't recall much since I stayed back, working your shift at that restaurant. Maybe you want to talk to Okudera and Tsukasa. Anyway, I have faith in you! You should find out what it is. Perhaps, it'll bring joy and happiness to you," he ventured with unwavering conviction.

"Thanks," I said with an awkward smile. "You want to split the bill?"

"Nah, it's on the house since you don't have a job."

"You don't have to remind me," my thought blurbed itself out as we chuckled.

* * *

We were outside of the restaurant, Takagi had just paid the bill.

"Well, I'm going back to work. Never give up!" he shouted, waving goodbye.

I waved back and headed for home. If Takagi realised, then the others must have, right?

I walked on and on, until something caught my attention. Warmth returned to my vision, something I hadn't felt in what seemed to be a lifetime. Intense hue began to flow vividly and distorted my view for a brief moment.

 _My eyes_ _are_ _playing tricks on me_ , I thought. _A red ribbon_.

It was her...


	5. A short visit

Chapter 5: A short visit

 **Author's note: Mitsuha had a triple French braid hair style whilst she was a teenager. However, at the end of the film, she changed it.**

A mirror was right in front of me, being used a reference and helped me as my hair slowly took shape. Nowadays, my style consisted of two small French braids on each side of my head; tied together with the braided cord that was coloured red. The one I had kept for 8 years and counting. As I peered into the mirror, liquid brimmed out of my tear ducts. A poignant, melancholy feel coursed within me, but for what reason, I will never know exactly. Is it a cry for help? Longing for someone? For him?

 _I don't feel lonely, I have my lovely family here with me in Tokyo_ , I thought. _Perhaps, I want him back in my life._

As I left my house, I couldn't help but think of his idiocy when he wrote "I love you" on my palm.

 _Stupid guy, I can't remember you with this at all…_

After the incident at Itomori, I could never recall who he was, what he looked like nor his voice. All that I had left of him were the words that crawled into my mind, and etched itself in there like writing on stone, forever.

I was told that a part of every wish would be granted, even if it was a teeny bit of it, but I had lost sight of those words for a long time. 8 years have passed, yet, he never came back. He vanished from my life, ashes carried away by the bitter, howling wind. Oh, how cruel the world was to me. I couldn't find happiness, even with a comfortable life in this amazing metropolis that was Tokyo. Al though I lived separately from my family—due to my organisation paying the rent for me—they were all here nonetheless. My grandmother set shop, Yotsuha was studying at high school here — my desired life whilst living back in Itomori, and my dad who was still pursuing politics. Life should be good, but no matter how hard I tried, it never felt the same ever since.

I wanted to remember him.

I wanted to see him again.

I wanted to be with him.

I wanted to feel happy again.

Yet, maybe we were never meant to be together. Like if it was the law of the universe; for us to never meet ever again.

However, I had a feeling that if we did, we would realise the very instant our eyes met and intertwined together — like the braided cords my grandma made. I longed for the day that may never come in a life time. Tokyo was big, what are the chances of us meeting? Probably, one in a million or less. I hadn't even considered if he lived in Tokyo or the country. Would he still be alive? My grandma said to never, ever lose sight of myself, of my fated destiny. There was a fine line between wisdom and gibberish, for I couldn't tell them apart.

A gust went by my face, as if it was being calmed by a gentle, kind touch. There I was, right in front of the shop that my grandma ran. I had some free time on my hands, since work only started late in the afternoon. My right hand carried a gift that I had received from work and brought it along with me today, wanting to give it to her. It was the least I could do for her. She was my grandmother after all.

My hand was shaped like a curl and was about to knock on the door when I heard: "Oh, Mitsuha! Come in! Come in!"

She opened the door and greeted me inside with joy akin to the sun, shining brightly across the street.

"Grandma," I said with a reaffirming smile, though it was only a half-genuine one. I had learned how to fake smiles since that day. I handed her the plastic bag, "I have something for you."

"Lovely! Thank you so much, Mitsuha," she smiled and left the bag on the counter.

"It's tea, I hope you enjoy it," I said, explaining what the gift was.

"I'll brew some of it right now."

"Let me do it," I suggested. Grandma was my elder, so it was better for me to make it.

"It's okay, I can handle it myself. It's easier than making braided cords for sure!" she said as we shared a wistful giggle. She went to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the store.

It was filled with braided cords on display. Different colour, style and threading separated each and every cord here. They were all unique in some manner. The were four frames scattered around the shop that were used to make these braided cords. It felt as if it was my old town, albeit with the structure and integrity of the modern building that the shop resided in.

My gaze shifted down unto my right palm, scrutinising the flesh that covered my hand. A foreign, yet acquainted feeling took over my body; I became numb and my senses were distorted for a while, until my perception returned back to equilibrium.

My breath deepened as I recovered. I had lost something precious, it was him, it was you. The one who fell in love with me. I never had the chance to return the favour. Even if we had forgotten about each other, I wished that we would fall in love again. No matter where or when, I wanted the sweet warmth of you back in my sight, so I could never lose you again.

Footsteps creaked from the kitchen and grew louder, step by step.

"Tea's ready," my grandma said. She attended to me before serving the tropical tea for herself and asked: "How's your work going?"

"Well, there's so much to do as a Public Relation's officer at an NGO. You have to be on your tip-toes to even manage sometimes!" I said honestly. "How's the shop?"

"Thankfully, there are many former Itomori residents who come by and make it lively here," she said. "However, things have been calming down recently."

"I'm sorry I can't help you with the shop," I said, trying to apologise to grandma modestly.

"Don't worry, you have work to do anyway," she replied. "Yotsuha is a big help, so you have no need to worry at all. She reminds me of you; kind and hard-working in high school."

"Oh, is that so?"

Her gaze shifted to the ceiling, as if she was thinking of something. _Is something wrong_? I thought to myself.

"Hey, are you fine grandma?" I asked politely.

"No, it's nothing. Yotsuha couldn't help me yesterday," she responded whilst adding more. "A young man helped in her place. Interesting fellow if I say so myself."

"What was he like?" I inquired curiously, wanting to know who this person was.

"He seemed down and self-loathed, saying that he was useless and unworthy. So, I helped him out like I did with you, Mitsuha," she explained.

 _Hmm,_ I attentively nodded and replied with: "He's lucky to have had the chance of listening to you. You're filled with captivating lines."

The alarm on my smart phone—the one was set by me for 2 pm—went off as I finished speaking.

"I have to leave now, grandma. Nice catching up with you," I said whilst grasping for my hand-bag, and stood up to leave the shop.

"Thank you for bringing the delicious tea! Good luck at work!" she said as she saw me depart. I waved her farewell and smiled in an awkward fashion.

Directions weren't my thing, but I knew my way to work from grandma's.

I walked through a horde of people with the wind gushing right above me, howling its cold, wintry note. I felt numbness throughout my body for a short period of time, whilst on route, but I brushed it aside thinking that it was absolutely nothing.

 _Nothing more, nothing less than the howl of the wind_.


	6. Tear

Chapter 6: Tear

My upper body swiftly rose from bed in the middle of the incandescent night, as if I had died in my dreams and shock engulfed me. My lungs were gasping for air, hyperventilating like crazy. It was like a ghost, phantom or spectre had appeared in the dream that no longer existed. Numbness settled in my chest, as my breath kept panting for the air required to operate. That feeling of longing for something precious—that I knew I had lost—surged from the ends of my heart through every plasma and cell living in my flesh; it set foot and camped there for a brief length of time till my senses got a hold of itself, attempting to calm the atmosphere around me.

An endless stream of fluid coursed down from my face, signalling that something was certainly wrong. It was normal for a few droplets to flow out whenever the sun soared up each and every morning. However, it was a superfluous amount, to the point where my hands weren't sufficient to wipe them away. A few tissues from the side helped in the stead of the former.

'What's wrong with you, Taki?' I asked myself with a soft, dismal voice that gloated whatever I had felt.

I had struggled, trying to soothe my ambience with slow and heavy breathing, whilst reminiscing the previous day that had vividly dawned unto my consciousness and recited itself.

* * *

It was her…

The winter wind slithered above me with shrieks of the large crowd beside me. It was a horde, there were so many around me that it was an arduous task to locate the unmistakable red ribbon that guarded her hair. Her appearance screamed of deja vu, as if I had already seen this woman before.

 _Paramnesia_ _?_ I thought of a possible answer.

My chest tightened whilst it experienced a dazed jumble. I had goose bumps all over myself. That very feeling coursed throughout myself, deceiving my perception of the world with immense strength that had never happened before. Strength that was unbeknownst to me until then. My respiratory system had to work on a huff and puff motion in order to gain a foothold of myself.

My hands were leaning on my knees that were bent down in the middle of a mass of humans, blocking many in their paths. In spite of that, everyone ignored me up till the moment I flew in the general direction of her. I was still recovering my vigour and vitality. My vision shifted about, scanning and analysing the back of every single person. There it was. The red strip. Even if she was far away, I chased after her like a mad man, like a child pursuing their dreams, like a dog racing after a bone.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Whoa there."

"Are you sorry?"

"Pardon me."

Yes, I heard them, but I had no time to spare even if I wanted to apologise for a mere second. For all that I could care, she was in my sight as the distance between us lessened gradually, bit by bit. The light on the pedestrian crossing in front turned green, swarms of people flooded around us. It was overwhelming, feeling claustrophobic with the limitless abundance of individuals rushing by me. Her vivacity glowed colourfully amongst my monochrome sight of the vast city. I started to lose her, the black and white ahead of me started to consume my eyesight, gently diminishing what was left of her until she was gone and faded away with the wind.

'If only...If only I knew your name,' I asserted out, with the unpleasant smell of desperation ringing throughout myself.

I ran as fast as humanly possible, going as far as exiting the large crowd soon after and recovered my breath. To my shock, I twisted myself around whilst searching for her. However, she wasn't there at all, like if she ceased to exist from this cruel, harsh realm that was life.

She was a ghost, a fiction of my delirious mind. I wanted to believe she was there, but the more I thought of it, the more I seemed to be hysterically insane. A realistic illusion that defied the laws of physics. A mere shadow among many others. A simple fallacy. "She" was nothing. "She" was no one.

You could tell from my face that I felt pathetic and distressed, it was involuntarily showing on me. I followed a route back home, it was set by my GPS on my smart phone. Al though, I hadn't thought of a single thing after that. Until something piqued my interest.

It had this strange vibe around it, even though it was just a simple shop. I didn't know what it was, but it had a sense of familiarity around it. Before I knew it, my feet stood by the front door. However, I couldn't. I couldn't knock on the door even though my hand—shaped like a fist—was right in front of it, a sheer length away. I let out a deep sigh and gave up, returning back home as the wind roared its fierce, yet sorrowful cry.

...

I had crept against another door, it was my own. My arm brushed off minor tears of inconvenience before I entered. Incense burned throughout the house, filling every corner of it with its peculiar, acquiesced smell. Footsteps creaked nearby.

"Hey Taki. Welcome – Are you okay? You don't look so well. Your face is quite pale. Did you take medicine yet?" My father was obviously concerned, but I gave him a flimsy rebuttal hoping that it would assure him.

"No, I'm fine dad," I lied. "It's just fatigue."

"Right, rest well then. If you need anything else, don't be afraid to ask me. I'm here for you, son," he reaffirmed in a tedium way.

My eyes peered away from his gaze as I frankly passed him. Again, there were two sticks of incense burning in the side room, one was for dear mother and I assumed the other was for the mindless void.

My body hastily shunned itself and collapsed violently onto my poor bed. The world around me turned black, like curtains being closed as it cut off all light.

* * *

My breathing slowly returned to normal. But my mind? It did not. I kept on remembering, not being able to stop the flood of my thoughts. It was a wild-goose chase. Futile. Why did I run?

 _I don't want believe that it was all for naught,_ I thought. _I'm not crazy…_

Slowly resting myself on my bed, I tried to sleep. Though it took a while. My mind was still distraught and absorbed in yesterday. But I heard them. A violin and piano played their music in absolute harmony. It was…amazing.

Calmly, I dozed off into a sound sleep.


	7. Determination

Chapter 7: Determination

 **Author's note: The white ceiling has appeared before (Chapter 1).**

 _A white ceiling,_ I sighed. My life wasn't going to get any better, it would probably go downhill from here. My resolve was shattered into a million bits and pieces like a fractured glass mirror.

My palms were sweaty when tears spilled out of me per usual. The droplets of desolation were swept away by my shirt instead.

A simple gaze into the mirror, yet my shoulders shrugged involuntarily in front of it. I felt jittery, not being able to do anything without feeling resentment.

 _The city would probably be better off without having me,_ I thought. _In a city of millions, only I am lost._

After finishing my daily routine, the muscles on my arms automatically stretched out above me in an attempt to help loosen my contracted chest. A soft and sleepy yawn remarked my morning. But it wasn't morning. It was kind of late in the afternoon, on the first day of the weekend. I overslept, but it didn't matter at all as there was nothing significant to do today. The sun was soaring high up in the sky, with the sounds of the busy city entering through the open window.

 _Might as well eat something, maybe it'll cheer me up._

"Oh hey, you're up Taki. I hope you got good sleep. There's some miso soup on the table," my father said.

He was reading the daily newspaper in the living room, with a cup of soothing tea on the side. It was obvious that he wasn't gazing straight at me, probably saw me in his peripheral vision and said that.

"Okay," I replied without even looking at him, my sight was slanted below as my feet moved towards the dining table.

I finished half of my bowl before my stomach yelled to stop. It wasn't full and had plenty of space to gracefully force down more food—yet no matter how much I tried—it couldn't accept any more. A loss of appetite.

'Bah! Never mind,' I conceded and cleaned up the table promptly, before heading back to my room.

The lights weren't on and it was relatively chilly to me. The curtains and windows were closed. Quite messy with a bunch of books lying around. As I closed the door, it was like being trapped in a confined space. In a prison.

The temples on my forehead were begging for a massage as they had ached, to which I complied whilst sitting down in front of my desk. My fingers applied pressure to the sore skin and jiggled it around. A small sigh of relief left me, as it had felt good.

But it was not good enough to rid me of the memory that was yesterday. A figment of my illustrious imagination. A simple ghost. She was a delusion of my mind, made up to satisfy my very need to chase after it – after something I had lost. Perhaps, after all this time, I was indeed _crazy_.

After I had drawn that conclusion of myself, my head slowly rested onto my arms that were laid on the cold desk, and started weeping pathetically. The world was so cruel to me. God had forsaken me, _D_ _eus vult_. All that I had left beside me was that stupid, crappy feeling of missing something precious. It had only brought me pain and suffering. I wanted it to end.

 _I'm pitiful._ _Tsukasa_ _and_ _Okudera_ _are engaged, working full-time_ _and enjoying their lives_ _. Even Takagi has a job at_ _a well_ _renowned_ _compan_ _y_ _,_ I begrudgingly contemplated my own existence. _I can't take it_ _any more._ _Instead of living, I'd rather..._

My eyes were full of anguish, grief and dysphoria. I hated myself. Everything. It was like I had been bamboozled of happiness. I sat there, endlessly loathing myself for what I am, for who I was.

A few minutes had passed by. There was no one, not a single living thing in my room. It was too cold, too brutal for anyone to dare set foot in here. Like a squeegee cleaning a window, my tears were mopped away by my trembling hands. Sniffing my mucus up, my vision was cleared of its dread. In this cold room, little droplets of warmth were suspended above me.

My head had slowly moved upwards and the view of the sketches on my board penetrated my retinas. Itomori, a town that vanished had wrung my heart so much. I didn't even know anyone from Itomori. Steadily and calmly, my composure returned to myself. A disappeared town soothed me deeply, I started to ponder yet again. However, this time it wasn't about myself. It was about Itomori and that peculiar sensation.

 _Even though it was after it disappeared, I had already been to Itomori once. So, what am I really searching for? It can't just be Itomori only... Possibly, am I longing to reconstruct it?_ I thought.

What could the answer be? Thoughts had zipped pass my consciousness every single second, with each and every single possibility branching out like the Everett multi verse. I considered every bit of it. Withal, they all lead up to a single, distinct explanation.

'Her,' I asserted with disbelief.

She was the only logical explanation. I couldn't go back in time to visit Itomori whilst it was still standing. Plus I had visited Itomori—albeit merely after it was destroyed—if that counted for anything. Perhaps, I had been searching for someone, not something all this time. Someone that I had lost. Someone that was dear to me. Someone that had changed me. Someone that I should not forget.

She was real, she had to be. A red ribbon. Her vivacity glowed brightly, it brought warmth back to my monochromatic sight of the dull city. She illuminated the path across a cold, dark ocean that I was lost in. Whatever I had felt that day was real enough to me, it must have been. Yesterday, the feeling of longing for something – someone returned to me the moment I laid my eyes on her. Except, it was excruciating, to the point where my body had to rest in the middle of the large metropolis around me. She could not have been a mere "ghost", as my experience would not align with it. It was all the more certain that she was an authentic, genuine person that lived in Tokyo. And that I had something to do with her, but what it was exactly, I did not know.

This revived resolve within me passionately raced my heart, as my skin tingled along. I knew what I had to do; I needed to find her, she might have been the key to all of it. The final piece of the puzzle.

 _Perchance, my father should know about this beforehand,_ I thought.

Father—although he spoke in a monotonic voice—was a loving, cordial and devoted person. I couldn't let him down. My first trip to Itomori was abrupt and many people were concerned for me. They still were even today. Tsukasa, Okudera, Takagi and father… I didn't deserve them at all.

Thus, my electrified body shot up and headed for the living room. The television was audible from across the passage of my room. As I leaned on the side of the entrance, my conscience asked:

"Hey dad, I need to talk to you about something."

His gaze shifted from the loud noise in front of him and met my own. He nodded nonchalantly, turning off the television. All the windows were closed. It was only the living room's light that was shining brightly, the rest of the apartment was covered in the mysterious enigma. All the more quiet in here, it actually felt tense seeing my father with a serious, yet sombre demeanour on his face. Only me and him in this cordial apartment. Face to face. Man to man. Father and son. To be honest, it was essentially a wild west duel without the guns and stuff, it was still for a moment before he broke it.

"Take a seat, Taki," he suggested, to which I adhered with by sitting across from him.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" my father asked whilst fixing the position of his glasses.

I steadied myself and my breathing. Inhaling and exhaling at a slow, constant speed in order to prepare myself. When I was ready, I let it loose and explained my habits.

"Err... Well, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I've picked up strange habits in the past 5 years. Every morning, tears escape from my eyes. I let out a simple gaze into my mirror, as if someone other than me was standing in front of it. Patting the back of my neck when panicking. Taking in the city scenery, which I am already accustomed to. Scrutinising the details of my right hand, as if there is something there. Strange habits which I've gained for no reason, that's what I thought at first."

My dad looked as if he was analysing every single word that left my mouth. Withal, he still peered directly into my eyes, it made me feel a teeny bit uneasy that he was able to do so and not flinch. I continued on with:

"For a while, I've felt as if a part of me was missing. A feeling of longing for something that had disappeared from my life. It's been like this ever since high school, when I visited Itomori," I said, trying my best to convey my feelings through to him. It wasn't easy, because it still didn't make much sense to me either. "I thought it had something to do with Itomori. However, something piqued me and my attention yesterday. It was a person, a woman. She glowed brightly amongst many. I felt warmth and sentiment return back to me. Emotions that I had lost, previously unbeknownst to me for what seemed to be a millennia."

I paused for a while, taking a small breather to recuperate myself.

 _God, it really did drain me to talk with such honesty,_ I thought. Spewing out all the feelings that had confined me for the past few years, all at once.

"I see, please continue," he said whilst listening attentively to me rambling on a somewhat perplexing story.

Slowly nodding, I proceeded with haste.

"My legs ran, ran and ran as fast as they could. I couldn't reach her in time, she vanished amidst the crowd. At first, my thoughts and conscience denied her very existence. A ghost walking the streets. A mere shadow. No way she could have been real, or so I thought." I asserted with passion.

No, I wasn't crazy, I couldn't be. If the strings of my heart hadn't been pulled so violently, then I would have believed that she was an illusion.

"Why did I feel so fervent and elated about a person I've never met before? Maybe, all this time I've been searching not for something, but for someone. The way I felt was real enough to me. It was and still is clear to me that whatever I had felt was genuine. I'm sure of it. And I think she's the answer. We must've met before. Someone said to me that my memories may betray me, but my soul wouldn't. In the end, my soul didn't," I claimed with what seemed to be a never ending well of _determination_ , though I felt as if dyspnea had struck me. Yet again, my lungs drilled themselves to take in air, in a slow and easy fashion.

My father looked like he was deep in thought, grasping my situation and knitting it together.

"So, what do you think of this, dad?" I inquired his opinion on this critical, yet vague subject.

It was obvious that he was buried within his thoughts. He was breaking apart and reconstructing the fibres of my story, piecing it together and trying to make sense of my bewildering fable. He fixed his spectacles and leaned forward. Slowly, his mouth opened to reveal something that I had never known before.

"Taki, your mother made me promise two things. The first is to protect you, and in times of need, to guide you. The second is to always be happy, even without her. I have failed the latter, terribly. Sometimes, I think of atrocious thoughts which do not belong in my mind, though I'm used to it already," he professed. "It is a parent's duty to protect, love and usher their child. To that end, I think it is time for you to hear my story – no... _our story_."


	8. Our story

Author's note: This chapter took a lot longer than expected, sorry. I had ideas in my head, yet I couldn't write them down. Writer's block. I even had several drafts of this chapter. To my dear friends: thank you. It has been quite a journey to write this chapter. Anyway, enough of me ranting, this chapter in particular was highly experimental and tough, going out of my own comfort zone to write it. I hope you enjoy it regardless. Without any further ado…

* * *

Chapter 8: Our story

"Take a small breather. Inhale. Exhale. This story will be as long as you think. Now, listen to my voice – closely. Break apart each and every word. It may sound monotonic and pale, but even a colourless picture tells a tale worth thousands of words. The stage is set, and now, the curtain rises."

* * *

The Tachibana family, although small with only a man and woman, were delighted with their lives. They may have been poor; however, nothing could have stopped their happiness.

A child was born, the small village was in the northern parts of Japan. Tight-knit community. One could say it was a joyous place. But, where there is light, there is dark.

The child, now a young boy in middle school, had genuine curiosity made of pure delight that pushed him towards the chemical and artistic realms of our world.

The Tachibanas were religious worshippers of divinity, with the exception of the youngling, for he did not know which or even what divine they worshipped in the household – since the incense burnt was for no particular entity. Curious, yet bamboozled was he by the answer given to him.

One day, if by chance or fate, he drew the short end of luck, doomed to be a _xenos_ , a small village where only he was missing and left out. A phobia, it alienated him. Words like "delight" and "glee" ticked him, belittled him. Driven into a cold, dark corner, he acted.

Without warning, nowhere was he to be found at home. Gone. Vanished with the howling wind. Ostracised from his home town.

A gust of wind howled its bitter, bleak prise all around the child, whom, was alone, a figment in the giant field around. Shivering, he ploughed through the melancholy, frozen crystalline water that had covered every inch of land. His face winced, yet, he felt no need to apologise, for this was what he truly believed was right. A heavy sigh had brought him the sight of a small billboard bathed in snow. Slowly, he brushed it off with jittering hands, as the child's teeth gritted back and forth. Timidly, his gaze was met with:

"The following area has been closed due to hazardous terrain."

Lushly was air blown from his nose, the sign was left behind with its splotchy skin and empty stare, a warning that wasn't heeded.

The soft crumbling under his feet – they were sore, briskly begging for the warmth of a nearby fire, or even someone. Yet, for all he could care, he wanted to, he needed to. The village was better off not having a person who thought of escape, who wanted to curl up. One who wouldn't bother with eye contact. A gaunt expression, filled with hollowness within. The world was cold and frigid. It scarred him a sight unbeknownst to many, a world where only black and white had existed. A monochromatic earth that spared him no longer. Calmly was his body peacefully numb, either by the brutality of the cold or by himself, he needn't obey. He shuffled on, with his legs bygone aching.

For many steps, all that flew past his numbing hearing were the chills of the singing wind—it took a heart of revulsion—as if it was muttering, cringing away with a compulsion to flee with haste. A silent mind, still bristled with obsessive thoughts.

Pitter-patter. The wind flourished fiercer and mightier with each and every step taken, it culminated around a small hill that grew closer in sight. At the very top, it was mute as the gale died off there. Lo and behold, a leaf—solely thriving from a small, sprouting shrub—green and colourful that sparkled amongst the white; brimming with life in the middle of the barren wasteland. One that was coated with icy paint, where no flora could have sustained without hibernation. It was definitely an odd and strange sight to see. However, 'twas thankfully gratifying to the eyes of the lone wanderer.

A monotonous sight couldn't prevent the splendid sigh of momentary relief, one stemming from the young child. A bittersweet nod was let out to shape the goal he, himself, had set. With his firm jaw, he continued onwards.

The world was harsh and painful – yet so, very alive. His sore, aching legs stridden forth through layers of pernicious and ague terrain. And it had awarded him with a small glimpse. His heart stopped, frozen like ice, and he fell dead as an inanimate corpse.

* * *

Slowly, his eyes widened to a scene above him, withal, with furrowed black brows. Calmly, a sensation coursed throughout his entire body. Visible sweat. His chin trembled alongside a grimace that lingered, with eyes that watered like a sprinkler. He was rationalizing what had happened, for he couldn't believe, believe what had occurred. The sight above was no more, his curtain call refused, dimming the world around him. His muscles had tightened and toughened, breathlessness ensued.

For some time, his consciousness was restrained within bed, albeit with his physicality feeling dissimilar. Gently, footsteps approached him, but his eyes wouldn't budge to identify whom. Water dripped, though not from his eyes. It was probably from a piece of cloth being twisted and turned by its sound. The heart of the child bleated faster – it raced from their humid touch, slowly caressing his wincing face. Warmth at long last. He disregarded the thought of them being his parents, as his eardrums heard a voice that was neither mother's or father's. A tone that resided from a young female. She softly asserted that the young child was safe and sound within her home, not aware that he was awake. Curtains were lifted. Thus, his lids arose, greeting him to a young girl covering her mouth, gasping. A smile slowly shaped from her. She was a cherry blossom. She was beauty.

Returning from harsh winter work, her parents had found the young vagabond amidst the fragile terrain, still, yet blooming with a heart faint. Judging from his surroundings, he knew that this family was in a similar position to his own – a blank look on his face, his knees felt weak as it had suffered by a choice. One that wasn't light nor blond. Timidly, numerous tendons pulled and heaved, trying their best to support the estranged nomad who wanted to fall to his knees in front of her. He managed his upper chest, then he couldn't, frozen with a frown. Moderately, her face had shaken. She rested her balmy palms on his back, laying him to rest.

"It'll take some time," she said bitter-sweetly. "Please, don't make it worse for yourself."

With that, he was left in solitude for a while. A longing gaze at the _dark ceiling_ above, and a weighty sigh to accompany him.

* * *

In due time, they learnt of one another. How he was a young middle school child, unfortunately caught in the heart of a blizzard. How his curiosity of the world made him love the material sciences. How he had fallen for the arts. Nonetheless, he held off an important topic, biting his nails whilst darting a gaze away.

Oddly enough, the young girl was older, albeit the same height as her stiff guest. The humanities kindled a sparkle from her eyes, and she, too, was an enthusiast of the arts, of music. From the look of things, it was rough for the both of them. Reasons that were sometimes similar, sometimes completely different. However, never had she fretted alongside her strong family, appreciating the littlest things of life; from foods to mere items, a life of contentment. A simple smile and relaxed attitude which brightened one's day – his day.

Even though she was relatively new to it—passion had stemmed from within—she told her guest, with a steady voice and set jaw, of her odyssey to learn an instrument of the strings. The violin. A symbol was on the tail-piece, but there was no certainty what it was exactly. A letter…? Might had been a "smiley face" due to the acute bracket.

Fumbling a bit, regardless of mistakes, he had felt a fulfilling, flamboyant feeling flow from within the female. His visual perception was befuddled, gently, the spectrum of light had burst forth. Stimuli he hadn't felt for a while. There they were – the notes, they took shape in the ambient air above, dancing. Energetic and affable, just like her. Numbness enveloped his body.

After a while, and without a second thought to it, he had asked: "Where did you get it from?"

She kept bowing to and fro, gradually till it rested with a veil of silence around them, pacific with breathing. For a moment, her gaze shifted away. Timidly, her legs rested on both her knees—upon the dull wooden floor—with the violin amicably beside the young girl, comparable, yet offbeat to the wanderer who sat cross legged.

"It was... a gift from my grandparents." Her voice broke a bit, fiddling with a string of her hair endlessly. "They, they—"

"I – uh, well….um… sorry. I shouldn't have asked that." His arms felt heavy, and like an automatic reaction, he pulled his shoulders lower to bear them. Softly touching the back of his neck, he felt an icky sensation. At the very edges of his peripheral vision there seemed to be clouds of cumulonimbus, heaps of them. Mildly, she shook her head.

"Don't be." She faced him, their eyes met and intertwined for a brief pause. Her posture improved, even if it was a teeny bit. "My parents… They told me that everything that begins, must end. We shouldn't feel pity nor sadness at this, for at the end of every dark tunnel, let there be light."

Serenity had befallen the two akin children. A half-smile—bitterly awkward, yet cooling—encroached the wanderer, one that was given off by the young girl. They appreciated each other's company, fathomed by their consequences.

" _Fiat lux,_ " he ushered beneath the sound of the placid storm, and there it was – light.

* * *

The air was filled with elated giggles. Outside, although on a wintry, yet lukewarm afternoon, were the pair enjoying their time. Even though it had only been a dozen or so days, the weather had improved immensely. Rising with its brimming warmth, the sun had varnished the ever so land from the top of the skies. To him, a cherry blossom had eyes that sparkled with its vibrant presence.

The young wanderer had recovered, repeatedly laughing at her jokes – energetic and affectionate. However, deep down, he knew something wasn't right. And that something was himself. A place in the world where people let their guard down, where they unwound their muscles and treated themselves to a nice drink. It wasn't just a place made of walls, floors and a thick cosy roof. A spot where you truly belonged. A place that was called... home.

His posture bent down a bit, slowly isolating himself from the ongoing conversation. She bit her lip and slowly twirled a strand of hair. Bit by bit, she inched closer to the unaware child, invading his space. Yet, it felt quite distant with its ambient lull.

"Are you…" Her tender palm had touched his stiff shoulders, whom unknowingly dug into a cold front. Halcyon they were, death-like with motion until she added on. "All right?"

His face, along cheeks that burned, was blank and unable to meet the other's eye with calm. There was a sting—some pain in his jaw—that didn't allow a reply to exit freely. The young boy's stomach had clenched up together, and slowly he turned, his pupils had widened when they met. He smiled bitter-sweetly.

"Well… um, I – I know that I should've told you this, but… I'm a runaway; I ran from home." He cleared his nose whilst his view was elsewhere. They met again. His chest felt tense, with lungs that were barely able to support his needs, and slumping his shoulders that were burdened. "But, being here made me realise my awful mistake. Ne–Never had I thought of the consequences… nor the feelings of my dear parents."

His chin slowly fell with a gaze meeting the land beneath them. A burden transpired upon his shoulders, how terrible his parents must have felt. How they must have cried in pain, not being able to find their one and only child. Gone, claimed by the everlasting wind.

Vividly, their faces had interlocked, twisted and jumbled amongst the light around them. His saviour's skin had blended into the lovely snow in the distance, fair and light. Eyes that shone brightly, sparkling with a daze of blue, like stunning sapphires. Her right hand, bit by bit, crawled towards his face, like a child reaching their hand out to a beautiful animal in the petting zoo. Her sincere, revitalising stroke had calmed the jittery runaway, his jaw held in place by mere fingers. Simple, yet touching. An ardent blaze allured by the surface of his skin, for it had absorbed the warmth given off by the pleasant and exude feeling of her calm grip. A tepid manifestation of the sun, withal, upbeat that he hadn't a reason to interfere. The young man had delved deeper and deeper into her slender hand, to the point where it was full, like a child drowsing onto a soft, cosy feather pillow. And this pillow felt smooth like silk, tranquil with harmony, gentle enough for the budding wanderer to have fallen asleep. On the fringe of his gaze was the snow-covered horizon – a small tilt below, her fair complexion had melded with it.

"You should make up with them." Her thumb continued to skim his cold face, seemingly bringing back heartfelt emotions to the young boy. "After all, they _are_ your parents."

Weakness crammed his knees, curling up a bit. Tears dripped from his puffy face, for he knew what needed to be done, and nonchalantly shifted his head in a bobbing motion. The wanderer sat still upon the bristly, chilled land. Her arms were passively wrapped around the back of the young boy, he was pulled close, their chests met and a head rested upon her snug shoulder. Time had felt like eternity in that very moment.

…

He let go his grasp of her. Everything he needed was packed in a small makeshift-like bag given to him by the young lady. It was time to return back home, back to his small village. His body felt cold to leave behind such a wonderful place that he could've called home, yet, some things were never meant to be. An ecstatic, enthusiastic wave goodbye to the girl and her parents, he ventured forth back into the wild. He needed to set things right, for if they were left as they were, he would have felt regret pierce through his heart and soul. For all he could care about, he wanted to, he needed to do this – to make it right. He hummed along the tune of the thrilling wind around him.

For the world was cruel, but it hadn't a need to be ugly.

* * *

Notes had been pulled back and forth, resonating under the stress of tension, vibrating and inciting the air around. It flowed out like a waterfall, expanding with its turbulent stream, and gushed out with its might and strength. Yet, it was serene as the ocean, as if you held a conch shell beside your head. Harmonious, their senses had been taken captive – the audience oozed for more and more. A dancing flourish of melody pierced through each and every single body within the small music hall. A grandiose performance, fit only for a virtuoso.

An up-and-coming pianist, the youthful wanderer—now an adult—performed within the modern city of Tokyo. Unfortunately, his parents wanted to stay back, and so they did. However, this was a great opportunity for him. Through valiant work and effort, he managed to get this far. He wasn't going to let it go. Ever since that day, the day he had returned, it had begun. With a sharp sense of purpose, he acted swiftly with passion. Solidly paving the way, the path was laid forth and all he had to do was follow it.

Away from his dear home town, a sulky sensation and mood had embroiled him in a pinch, a thickness within his throat. Nevertheless, Tokyo was supposed to be his home now, an honour student from a music institution, with his career more or less decided already.

A beeping sound materialised from the virtuoso's phone. It rang and rang, yet, he dropped the call since no one had picked up. They were probably busy in the middle of something. Thus, he waited and tried again... No reply. The next day? Still no reply. The very next day? The same. How about a week? To no avail.

A thorough, weighted sigh was faintly released from within. Fingers nervously tapping the desk whilst fidgeting along its tune, the world had softened its dynamics to a low, subtle one. His chair kept rocking back and forth. Coarsely, his throat was cleared with the calming of his mind.

 _Tomorrow…_ he thought, laying onto the feather-like bed.

His consciousness was restless, trying many different positions until a small breath of air was let out and shuffled his shoulders. The train of thought had stopped and all that was left under the roof of his head were tunes of the violin, it was calming to hear them again…

…

A bunch of papers were left dusty, all alone on the side of the hall, they were stacking tall. Mail, brochures and newspapers. The owner of the apartment couldn't care less about opening them. Some were brushed aside as the thick door opened to the shrieking wind on a chill morn. The rising sun had started shining its glistening radiance over the ever-concrete city of Tokyo. His feet moved forward unto the wintry steps of dawn.

…

The ill-lit night had stretched the horizon. But it wasn't night, it was late in the afternoon. His spiky hands were shaking inside the pockets of the jacket that had covered him. Teeth gritted to and fro alongside the bags that were under his tempered eyes… And there it was, his home town was within his sights in the twilight of night. In the distant forest were dim lights, they kept growing smaller each second. However, he continued on.

His hand had clenched up and knocked upon the door, his parents' house, his home. As expected, there was no action or reaction from within the still house. Unlocking the front door, the house brimmed with its glazing frost – no one had been home for a while. His search inside was for naught, it was empty, the whole place was devoid of life.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _Maybe the neighbours know something._

Nothing. Nada. No one was home in all six houses that were checked. A stooped posture back into the cold home he had grown up in, no one to talk to, all blank. The lights were flickered on, as the heaters slowly started to transfer heat to their surroundings. His mind was hazed with thoughts, not being able to see clearly through his internal sea. The skin around his temples were pleased with some relief, circling his fingers around them to knead them. The scenery around him grew dimmer, trying his best to keep his head up, however, it was merely a futile attempt. Soon, the pianist slept.

…

The virtuoso had winced, shaking his head in aggravation. Awoken from slumber, there was a creaking noise – no, a soft hammering on the front door, someone was knocking on it. Even though his knees were weak, he had crept himself to the very front and opened it.

Numerous people were right in front of him, having eye-contact with the former wanderer. Some were catching their running breath, others were smiling. Was it a prank? Surprise belated birthday party? One man in particular caught his attention. The one who had faith in a total beginner; the one who had trained and drilled him every single day; the man who gave his all during performances; a man whom the pianist respected greatly; it was he who engrained the complex skill and vast knowledge of music into him. His dear mentor. Well, former mentor technically.

His teacher, too, was smiling with the rest of the crowd, but, for a moment, it seemed as if the smile had changed to a more neutral stance, possibly even a bit sour before turning around to shoo the pack away.

As if by habit, the apprentice had bowed down out of respect.

"May I enter?" his teacher asked without pause.

With a raised stance, he said: "Why, of course," and simply gestured to enter.

They sat within the living room, kind of nostalgic for the honour student, the place hadn't seemed to change at all. The desks and chairs were exactly like they were years ago, the curtains blue, with a white cosy rug covering the floor. Unlike many others, his parents preferred the calm, serene nature in comparison to the modern world of technology. It was why they barely had any gizmos at home, save for the mobile phone that was a gift.

"So, how have you been, Yone?" the mentor had asked vigilantly.

The virtuoso had taken in a deep, satisfying gasp of air before releasing the very answer.

"Well, I'm fine," he replied whilst itching the back of his neck. After all these years, they were rather polite for a long-sought reunion, or so they were. The young pianist had placed both of a hand on each top of his lap respectively. "Tokyo's all chaotic, I'm still getting used to life in the big city. A lot of people come and see my recitals, but I feel a chunky, numb bit of my upper chest tense up for no reason. If I have to guess, it'll be stage fright."

"You _still_ get that?"

A small side-way tilt of his head and a corresponding nod said so. Thus, they had let loose their short giggles.

"Heh, I remember your first one." The virtuoso had to start somewhere, and his first friendly concert earned him a few stares from the audience. "You froze for a solid minute. Look at the good side, you can actually play without any hiccups now! All thanks to my excellent regime."

A painful, yet rewarding regime that was…

"May I ask why you've returned, my student?"

"The very same to you, teacher. Why was a bunch outside?" He shot back instantly. Without realising, his fists were clenched.

His mentor shot a gaze a way, mumbling something that he couldn't hear.

He wasn't really in a mood to talk much, so he went first:

"I came back for a small visit, but my parents are probably out right now."

"Well, um, Yone..." his teacher paused for a moment whilst heavily swallowing his saliva. "It's a bit hard to explain."

"Why is that?" he asked back in retaliation, raising an eyebrow up in response. His head had cocked up, unknowingly venturing onto something that clearly wasn't black and white.

The breath of his mentor had trembled for a split second. A minor detail he couldn't have picked up if it wasn't for his artisan skills. Soon after, the elder had regained the composure within himself, his shoulders no longer slumped. Upright, his teacher faced him with an undeterred look.

"Have you...received any important calls perchance?"

A swift head shake was his simple reply.

"Thought so."

 _Shoot…_ the young pianist thought.

The virtuoso bit his dry lips. Something wasn't right, but what could it be? Did it concern his parents? No way, it couldn't be. He knew they would never, ever get into trouble. Right?

The teacher anxiously tapped his right lap, a heavy, deep sigh to accompany it. After gazing at the benign floor, a response was asserted.

"Yone, to tell the absolute truth...They – your parents… Well, they've been, uh… missing for a while. We – we tried contacting you, but we only had your mailing address to work with."

That was right, he hadn't shared his contact details with anyone but his own elders. Numbness covered up his body in place of the warmth within his blood that flowed hesitantly. An unsteady sensation of light-headedness. It couldn't—

"A few days ago, there was a blizzard in the region. We have been searching for both your mother and father ever since. The whole village, or at least the capable, have been trying their best to find your loved ones. But… we're afraid that it'll be in vain, all for naught."

If this was a war, they would've been declared MIA, missing in action. The world faded softer like a mere whisper. Slowly, his face turned pale and ashen, his skin was seeped, withal, his face stayed stiff and silent. A singer with no voice, a silent voice. Thoughts shot pass through each and every valley inside his brimmed mind, trying to comprehend all of this.

"Are you – are you sure about this, that it's not a mistake?" the trembling student asked, rapidly blinking if it was natural. Breathing became harder as the air around him grew heavy and grimmer. Blizzards were mighty and fierce in the north, having experienced them himself – let alone survive one. Their chances…

The apprentice was unnatural stiff, it showed throughout his entire body, with a grimace that lingered on his face as the elegant flow of wind howled its audible tune nearby.

* * *

The first day of spring had dawned unto the city. The very first season of spring he had to experience without the joy of his parents being around. Unfortunately, they were never found, pronounced dead. Declared deceased in absentia. Even though he had inherited their land, house and belongings, in the end, he remained and continued living in Tokyo.

It was rather chilly; the winter hadn't departed the land of the rising sun. He couldn't help it, his body tensed up to shake off the bleak, bitter wind that gusted through the park. Always walking in the morn, he tried to soothe the inner workings of a virtuoso. Withal, his mind was composed of jittery thoughts and a vacant stare at the cold land below. For some time, the pianist had occupied his bed for mindless hours, dosing off to sleep, a ritual per day. A slow pulse circulated his veins and arteries, yet, it felt strange around his chest, a hollowness of some kind.

When the pianist returned from his sorrowful trip, his ability to perform in front of an audience had fallen through the roof, and for the best, decided it was time to go on a hiatus. One that may last forever if needed.

 _A spring without them has come_.

* * *

A sweet, summer morn in Tokyo had many people up and running, chaotic and euphoric with energy. What a time it was to be alive.

Amidst an entire crowd of people, only one man had peered below and not forth. It made not a difference to him, for he couldn't tell one apart from another. Stimuli that was redundant, useless to a human. His breathing, shallow. His neck, bent. Lines had covered his entire face, a slack expression to view the world with. Time was lost within the barren flow in his train of thoughts, from obsessive to downright deadly, he had a shivering, throbbing heart faint course through the ever-isolated man. A daily routine he carried out, the virtuoso would walk through the local park in hopes of it calming, caressing his heart and soul. Needless to say, it was futile. Fruitless.

A deep sigh from within to remark the journey back home to his apartment, he dragged the shoes beneath him in vain, endlessly seeking for retribution... His eardrums picked up a muffled tune, one that was close, yet far. It would've been ignored if it wasn't for the fact it was peculiar and enticing, a scent that pulled him closer with each step. A trail was left—like if it was made of breadcrumbs from Hansel and Gretel—in the air above him.

In the distance, a crowd was enveloping beside the source of the majestic flow of sound, they—the audience—were kept captive by the harmonic texture spun by another virtuoso – an artisan of the velvet sound and silence. All that existed in more than a single dimension, multiple ones in fact.

The notes had taken form above, brimming out with radiance akin to that of the sun, bright warmth that soothed each and every listener's heart. They were lethal, a dancing grenade which pulled in victims. Slowly, a path was made, people were moved and pushed away, for the young wanderer needed to see it with his own eyes and reached the front. A dazed look at the centre stage.

" _Fiat lux,_ " he muttered.

A slender figure coupled with a fair complexion, one that should've melted in summer already. Ecstatic, she bowed to and fro with her eyes closed, dazzling, amongst feelings that had contrasted his own. Perception of the world, from himself, was no longer redundant, for they had taken part alongside the street performance. These avid stimuli finally returned yet again. A gaze that was concentrated, focused upon her, one that would never falter. Yet, his hand formed a fist and gripped harshly.

 _What...What would she feel?_ He thought, pinching the lips of his mouth closed. A fluttering pulse that had resonated from the middle of his body, it was probably for the better to not…

As her dynamics dimmed, it faded away amidst the ushering wind of tomorrow, for the wind always rises above and beyond. Mere silence, it was broken by the thunderous applaud of the captive audience. Her eyes opened, blue like sapphire. A wave to everybody that listened to her gentle, affable music – basically everyone that was nearby. And with that, he disappeared amongst the crowd, not being able to show his face. A ghost that walked the streets.

A grim reminder of the past, a lone nomad lost in the world. Was it rightful? The world was not black and white any more. Truth? It was ambiguous, for there is no right answer. His conscious was left in ruins, rubble and reaching remains. In his little own thought bubble, he ran away. His surroundings, muted, with an everlasting sight at the path below him, an inability to concentrate. The muscles that formed the backbone of his body were tense, yet brittle. Just like before, a pitiful human in a large world that was cruel. Nonetheless, it had not a single need to be ugly.

A screeching sound was behind him, a bit distant still, but it was blocked out. His muscles, full of tension, were released the very moment someone's hand had gripped his shoulders, hyperventilation full of tiredness, a gasp that stopped him mid-strife.

"Don't you...remember me, Yone?" A female voice panted, so reminiscing that it sparked his blood alight. Her grip was loosened as the virtuoso turned dimly.

Yone tried his best to maintain a constant, straight posture, yet, a breathless burden had taken over his lungs, not being able to grasp the reality that was in front of his sights – it was her.

Her violin and bow was in the other, having chased him with the very same one given years ago, it was engraved with a peculiar mark; a round bracket symbol, albeit acute. A connection, enthralling with a bond perceptible to only the two musicians. A thread that twisted and turned, bent and broke, but even then, it would always entangle itself back to zero.

It would've been useless to try and skedaddle now, after all, she caught up with her violin and bow hand in hand. Admirable courage and strength, it was a tad bit too familiar to his own, to when he had run.

Nevertheless, the former wanderer thought of the words, the words that needed to be said. The ones that they deserved to hear before them. Humans had a tendency to forget that there were more realms than one. In humans, physicality and consciousness were the grapefruit; only enjoying it once you acknowledge the taste of both sweet and bitter that were contained within.

He looked straight into the depths of her gazing eyes, sapphire like the deep, blue ocean. What were the words? A small gulp and he knew the meaning behind the symbol – a letter. Slowly, he ushered them.

"Of course, I do… Umeko."

* * *

The sound of torment and pain occupied the entire room, yet, it wasn't a moment of sadness, for it was a circle – a continuation.

Yone felt a numbing sensation around himself, the atmosphere was suffocating on the edges of the wooden chair beneath. Wanting to witness it, he stayed with Umeko, but was told to sit down as his face was coloured pale as the snow. On the verge of fainting, they begun.

"PUSH."

"PUSH."

"You're doing good, keep it up."

His wife had taken pain killers before and even now she couldn't bear it. Her entire face was clutched. The pianist took slow, deep breaths to calm himself, uncertain if the delivery would be successful. His chest felt heavy under the pressure, watching, not being able to do anything but hope for the very best.

He couldn't see them properly, but from the clipping sound he heard, the obstetrician in charge cut the cord—the one that had connected Umeko and the baby—and left the room in a hurry.

Yone's neck bent back, an excruciating stare at the door that had just closed, shuddering. A mouthful gulp of saliva followed. Repeatedly, his right foot kept bobbing. His wife was still trying to calm herself, her pained expression was gone, but only so much. The atmosphere was tense…

 _Why...Why wasn't the baby crying?_

…

A few dreadful minutes had passed and the door opened. The baby—covered in a blanket, cleansed of blood—and the doctor had returned with an assistant alongside.

"So, what name do you want to give to the baby – to him?"

Yone took the bright, light child with his hands and cradled him gently. The child was sleeping, but breathing at least. Sitting beside Umeko, he showed her their son.

"He's… beautiful, just like yourself. Dear, you—you should choose the name."

He nodded nonchalantly.

 _W_ _hat would his name be? What_ _will_ _your name_ _be_ _, my new-born child?_

He thought of Umeko's own name and his own performances as an artisan of the piano. Many possible routes and possibilities were explored by his frenzied mind. Yone knew the answer and asserted:

"...Taki."

* * *

Ever since that day—the day Taki was born—Yone had prayed constantly to the same divinity that his parents worshipped. But, who was God? He had kept the tradition of burning incense, but it was for nothing in particular, just like before.

He thought back to the words that described the deity, the same ones given by his parents:

"It is there, yet it is not, for God is divine."

It reminded him of many memories, both fond and sentimental; the day he had ran away; the time he first met his future wife; him returning to the village, both as a child and as an adult.

It was in that thoughtful moment that he had realised, his eyes brows raised to the very top of the virtuoso's face.

He had been following in the sentimental footsteps of…

 _the wind._


	9. Snow

Chapter 9: Snow

* * *

 **Update:** It is no secret that I have been away for a while. Apologies if you were looking forward to my content for a while, and do not worry, for writing is a calming thing which is enjoyable – entertainment for one like myself, and of course you, the reader. The series will continue on.

To my close friends, thank you for sticking with me as always.

* * *

It would be precarious to think that fault, or even guilt, is a one-way street of no return. Many times, a face has more sides than reality. To that, the complexity of our diverse and unprecedented world seeps through our hands. Bygone. Neither by him, her or anyone in fact. It flows smoothly and ever gently in our grasps. Sometimes we wish that we were never born. It might have been easier to be gone than not be here at all. People may have regrets. Thoughts about changing the past. The word "easy" has no presence or any true right to belong besides "life". A mere, or rather, indefinite law of the cosmos and universe: Life is hard. Undoubtedly, the pleasure of "privilege" is simply present by birth to a select few. Living, breathing and feeling is not any less than the most effortless task. Any single one of us leads a separate, yet connecting path on the road. The road is many things; for one shall decide what it was, is and will be.

Science lays its foundations upon the certainty of repetition, to ensure utmost accuracy and precision. The road cannot be this. A wobbly path that contains various materials, from treachery to escape, it is by no means more scientific than the sun rising from the west, or God. Each and every path is distinct. Different. They may converge, and is how humanity has survived with strength till this very day.

Alteration is a by-product of this essence. Mutability and constant divergence allows for anomalies to pop up now and then.

In the worst moments, there is what humans call "hope".

* * *

A brittle touch upon his hands, or so he felt.

"It's okay... it's not your fault," she whispered softly.

"… How can I trust them? Look… just take a look at what they did to you, to your body. You're..."

Umeko wheezed and was lying peacefully upon her bed. Amicable sounds of coughing was commonplace there.

"They're trying the very best they can possibly manage."

"They should try even harder."

"Now, now. Have faith. I didn't tell you this, but lunch breaks in high school were utter torture for me. Brought little to no food in my box. Family reasons, just like yours. Always left it in the class to drink water from the tap elsewhere. Tough times," she whimpered. "Now—"

"You should rest," he commanded whilst grasping out to her.

"It's all right…" Her head shook. "Please, honey?"

After a tense chest, he'd slowly swallow a jab to approve of her.

"Class was done and my school-bag was unusually heavy one day. Lo and behold it was food. Croquettes. I ran back home to share it with my parents. Who sneaked it there? I will never know, but it brought warmth to my heart knowing that, in struggling times, people are willing to help. Believe. Even the tiny wings of a butterfly can change the world."

And there they stood still, like two stones.

* * *

Fragile. Day by day, night by night we find viscous enthralments within the expanding confinements of our especial preservation. Who are we to believe that God is real – and that he who controls power, controls the world. Is it accurate to say God exists? Theological divinities of the past may assert that it is the truth whilst it is a lie. The constant contradiction between the fission of both true and false gives birth to this peculiar field. However, the best lies that we comfort to are of the truth – neither one without the other. God exists, he does. Why? There's a very simple way to logically deduce this manner, by which "God" does or does not. His existence is based purely upon our metaphysical state of the mind. He who believes, lives. Shifting of blame is natural, preservation of oneself, even for a few unrelinquished moments. It is much easier to blame God himself for one's misdeeds than of another living being without stemming emotional or physical suffering. Likewise, happiness stems from power of the heavens, as if we deserved it from decisions we make that bridges our ever connected world of division, as is tradition. Karma.

Could humanity survive without God? He who trumps above all others is a major defender of our world, and of our faith. He may even be a necessity. It echoes throughout our history that without life, there is nothing – and with nothing, no pain. Life is daily strife for one's drive. Needless to usher forth, death is essential. For if there is no end, what is the use of a beginning? Indulging ourselves in the sweet, sweet lie (or truth) of the Almighty allows us to stray the mind of inevitability of the cold snow.

"It's all right. They're proud of you, I'm sure of it." He barely felt the heavy pat upon his cold moulded shoulder and the words accompanying it.

The sound of it never had existed. Refusal and denial to wall off the foreground. Snow had always been bittersweet. So smooth, yet so chilly. It streaks of enigma at first, then melts dearly into your numb palms. Regret is indisputable, it happens for feeling and breathing. Thus, our choices are dependant upon that, if given.

Yone could no longer hear it, nor their whispers. Even if he disproves it, it will be there forever. Whenever he returns, it is not there. Stern. His resolute endeavour. Snow may be hazardous and treacherous at times, but it may be your friend too. And he knew, there and then, before the three covered stones that:

Snow is warmth.


End file.
